The Truth of War
by Sir Raphael
Summary: The flight that carried the boys was only the first. Now, the second refugee plane has met the same fate as the first. Except this time, the persons concerned are rather different then those of the first plane. With Ralph back in charge, what'll he do?


**The Truth of War**

* * *

_Author's Note_: Lord of the Flies left much to be desired, at least from me. While I did greatly enjoy this novel, there was certain...lack of presence or feeling in the ending scenes for me. Perhaps I only gathered that opinion due to having read the book on a Sunday for four hours straight. My speed reading may have had something to do with it... 

Now, back to business. Usually, I am a medieval writer, and after that, a beginning Star Fox writer (Black Skies). Accordingly, this story probably won't be anywhere near the best you've read. It's not quite my genre, and the fact that I can't remember what time period Lord of the Flies takes place in only hampers me further.

And as a final note, yes, I've noted that the story title is the same of Chapter 7 in Black Skies. That is on purpose. And sorry if this is a short chapter. Like its predecessor, Black Skies, it's got a short starting chapter, and hopefully, like Black Skies, it'll get longer as I go along. Thanks for reading, and please review!

* * *

**Chapter 1 Attacked!

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**The pilot peered through the windows anxiously, scanning the grey mists ahead. His hands were steady upon the control stick, and his eyes were bright and alert, flicking constantly between the windshield and the instruments. 

"15,000 feet..." he murmured. "We're still too low. How long before we enter the covered zone?"

"Hold on a moment." replied the copilot, a middle-aged man with meticulously cut black hair, slightly oily from the days gone without washing. He rustled a map and looked at it carefully, reading the serial number and looking at a shaded region of red surrounding a point. He reached for a compass and navigation set, and then swore as the plane rocked again.

"Forget this. I'm going to try to run it through the computer again." he said.

"Careful," warned the pilot. "It's been cranky all day. Watch yourself, Roland."

"Yeah, yeah, so you say. We might get lucky for once." replied the copilot crossly, inputting the map's serial code onto a folding keyboard before him. "It'll come up on the mainscreen if this works. Hold on a second..."

The pilot, Leon Peregrith, looked up to the blank monitor above him. It flickered for a few seconds, still showing screen snow, and then changed to show a map intersected with the blue flight line. There again was the red region.

"Computer says about ten miles, Leo." affirmed Roland. "At our speed, it'll take us about...20 minutes, give or take for the turbulence."

"It's rather risky to be putting our safety on a 'give or take,' don't you think?"

"Weather conditions are too poor to get an exact calculation." replied Roland snappily.

"Whatever. We're still too low." said Leon, tugging back on the flight stick. The plane's angle of elevation increased as the altimeter began to tick upwards again. "What was the maximum range for the anti-aircraft guns again?"

"I think it was 20,000 feet."

"You think? I'll give it 25,000. We'll need the clearance anyway. Lucky shots have been known to happen."

"Right. You do that. Just remember, it'll get harder to climb as we go up."

"I'll just punch the afterburners."

"Perhaps."

The two flew on in silence for another 15 minutes. At that point, a red light began to pulse softly on the dashboard.

"We're on their scopes. Increasing maximum speed...Roland, regulate a bit more power to the engines."

"Gotcha."

As the plane began to pick up speed, the red light on the dashboard began to flash ever more quickly. Soon, it wasn't flashing anymore- it was fully on.

"Drat it."

"What?"

"We're still at 23,000 feet."

"Well hurry up and hit the afterburners!"

The plane was thrown forwards again as the afterburners were engaged. The computer mainscreen registered this for a few seconds before it flashed onto a grim message. Leon looked at it for a second, then said heavily,

"We've entered the covered zone. Maintain optimal ship conditions and tell the damage control party to be on their toes."

"Alright." replied Roland, and then he began to ring up the various components of the crew as the plane cruised on. Then, the light dubbed 'Pilot's Bane' came up, flashing a vivid green. Every pilot's worst nightmare.

"They've shot flak at us." groaned Leon. "Roland, track it!"

"Stuff's at about 10,000 feet now, and it looks like they're opening up with all they've got!"

"Position?"

"We're at 24,500 feet. Flak's at about 17,500- some of it looks to be falling off now."

"That's good, but I still want our clearance."

"To heck with the bloody clearance, we're still- holy cow, second salvo's at 21,000 yards! Pull up!"

"Where, where is it?" demanded Leon, scanning the clouds while wrestling with the controls. "I can't see anything-" he began when the ship gave a violent lurch. A glance to the damage control console told him all he needed to know. "Hit in the aft starboard section. Looks like it only scratched the armor." He rang up the damage control party, still looking ahead grimly, then in a rare moment of foresight he turned on the light in the passenger quarters that read 'Turbulence- Please Fasten Seat Belts.'

"Like that'll do much good." groused Roland. "Second salvo's falling away at 18,000 feet."

* * *

"Turbulence in the tropics?" asked Abbey bemusedly. "What next?" 

The scene in the passenger quarters was much brighter then that in the cockpit. The liner's seats were filled with refugees, all girls on this flight. Many were playing games on the seat trays, while some were watching a movie. Two of them, the oldest, were talking. These were Abbey and Jane, both 15 and 14 years old respectively.

"Tropic storms are pretty bad." replied Jane offhandedly. "But still, it's not like any of us took off our seat belts yet."

"True," admitted Abbey, "but I suppose it's a standard precaution. Just in case, y'know?"

* * *

"Y'know, Therald and Mike were shot down on this route." said Roland nervously, running the computer through a gauntlet of calculations. "Who's to say we'll do any better?" 

"I do." said Leon firmly. "We'll pull through. There've been more difficult runs then this."

The ship shook again as it was hit by the high-flying flak, but this hit was of no consequence. Roland was about to grudgingly admit to Therald that he had been right when the ship rattled from stem to stern, almost simultaneously dipping and jerking downwards, losing speed and altitude.

"What in the name of blood and thunder...?" asked Leon, but he trailed off when he looked to his left. Simultaneously, Roland confirmed what he was seeing.

"We've lost the far port engine. Looks like flak got sucked into it."

"Confound it." replied Leon grimly as the lights in the cockpit dimmed slightly. "We can't stay at these heights with only three engines! We'll stall!"

"Then descend a bit, so..." began Roland again until he realized what he was saying. "Oh."

"Exactly." said Leon. He looked ahead as the plane continued to drop, falling through the high ceiling of clouds. Now a frightening scene was portrayed before him. The whole sky below him was alight with bursts of flak, brilliant flashes of light accompanied by the steady glow of starbursts and snowflake shells. More and more of these deadly projectiles began to hammer against the plane's thin armor, and the hits began to tell.

"Okay, okay, fine." said Roland a few minutes later. "Look, we obviously can't keep up at this rate with all this weight. We've got to lose some of it, but detaching the armor's suicidal in these conditions. Therefore, I propose we drop down to user the thicker air above the sea to keep lift steady, then try and land the girls near the frontline base."

"I'm not going to drop these civilians unless circumstance forces me to do so." Then, in accordance to Murphy's Law, another of those dreaded phenomena, a second flak hit on the engines disabled that as well. The plane dropped alarmingly before Leon regained control. "Okay, maybe I will then!" he called over the rending noises outside. "Maybe they can't depress their guns that far down- it's worth a shot!"

* * *

The hits had most decidedly _not_ gone unnoticed. Back in the passenger quarters, a general chaos had ensued. Most of the girls were smart enough to realize that a sudden drop that had lasted for as long as that one did meant nothing but trouble, and those who had the few clear windows saw the flaming engines and realized that _that_ boded nothing good for them either. 

As the plane continued to settle and fall towards the water, weaving its way through a forest of flak, the two lead girls began to suspect the plane was crashing. When the now low-flying plane was struck on one wing with sea spray, it seemed to confirm this.

"Come on!" shouted Abbey as she made her way to the emergency egress. Most of those on board followed her into the back.

This was a situation they'd learned before getting on the plane. In a somewhat orderly fashion, the girls piled onto a series of square craft, shutting the doors after them. Abbey and Jane got onto the same one, but it was the blond-haired Jane who rushed out and tripped the release lever before scrambling back in. The rear wall of the small 'hangar' burst open like a trap door with a bang.

* * *

"The emergency exit is open!" screamed Leon over the noise of the raging sea and shaken plane. 

"Don't pull up!" yelled Roland back, reaching over and slamming Leon's hand forward. "You idiot! You'll only get us hit! The communicators are jammed! If you pull up, those girls will launch into nothing! Give them a chance here!"

"Fine then!" shot back Leon. "I'm not taking responsibility for this back at the base!"

"Well, then I will." grumbled Roland coolly, looking over the windshield again. There in the distance was the mainland, almost 50 miles away, seen only through some fluke of nature. Flashes were all over its length. Roland looked to the front- then suddenly screamed, "Leo, pull up!"

* * *

At that moment, the magnetic lines attached the evacuation craft were sliding along their tracks, snapping on firmly to a powerful electromagnet at the end. The four or so boats were being dragged by this tow rope at speeds still exceeding 100 miles an hour- most decidedly unsafe for a detachment. But they were rugged ships, and they could take it. 

Abbey was about to shout to Jane to release the tow anyways and tell the others to do the same when the plane jerked up powerfully, wrenching the tows from three of the craft. The fourth one stayed attached and was dragged into the air, upending and breaking off. It hit the water and exploded in a flash and cloud of shrapnel. The survivors on the other three boats cowered in their seats as the lethal shards pinged off the craft. Through the forward bulletproof windshields, the girls saw the dark form of the plane veer upwards suddenly, pulling above the looming form of a mountain, far in the distance. There was a terrific shower of sparks, and the plane continued onwards. Unbeknownst to the girls, the third engine had fouled after striking something atop the peak. The airplane continued onwards for a ways before disappearing from sight. There was no explosion to be heard. The rugged plane was still aloft for the moment.

However, none of the girls had the time to worry about this. Their foolishly launched craft were about to slam into the beach ahead at over 60 miles an hour.


End file.
